Petty things are a waste of time.

I don't waste my life on petty things.

I've been criticized three times on this website, for
small errors.

I am using a cell phone and spell check is horrible. It's not my fault if I have small errors.

If you don't like it you can unfollow me and leave.

I don't need grammar ****'s up inside my creative space, no one does.

Poetry is supposed to be a free flow of expression not criticized and damaged.

There's many different forms of writing because it's an art form of free expression.

I am proud of myself because I have to work harder than the average person to write like I do. I was born silent and communication is hard for me to do because I am autistic.

If you are going to waste your life on such pettiness you should rethink your destination. No one wants to be around a troll or a pushy Bee trying to sting everyone because they are uncomfortable with being imperfect.

We are living in a time of technology and science, it is
partly our responsibility to keep poetry growing.

We should be trying to renovate and preserve
the medium not attack it
by criticizing the creators.

Why waste time on worrying if we are using ,;'. the way everyone else does?

Why not use the imperfect structure as a character experience instead?

Language is diverse in many ways, it's not set in stone.

That's why we add to the dictionary building upon the mother's tongue.

It brings better format's and opportunity to grow our skills.

If you are going to leave comments in my posts to correct me, I will block you.

Unless I spelt something that is cursing and fawl don't say anything please. It's not my fault spell check is buggy.

People need to think before responding.

Be kind to each other.

My identity is split, as i lunge and resist.
Do my lungs really breathe when i indulge in phrenic constants?
Swear I'm the same when I'm different, my barbaric nonsense
In a barn with imposters, standing with improbable postures
Grazing over fallible pastures while praying to fawl pasters
Part of me feels like one of the sheep grazing for masters.
And the other part working on getting my masters, degree for some fast cars...
Can't breathe because monsters need me to get gassed up
So i smoke when it's mad tough
Better than a rope in the backdrop, i mean a noose in my back yard
Weight on my chest makes it mad hard, for a phrenic pit stop, where i can breathe and resist some, craving from twitch drugs
Seems i don't breathe with my lungs, since they're in need of warm hugs..
As such, my phrenic nerves speak to my heart with an infallible grudge